Crossroads Shadowland by Keta Diablo Page B

"Drive downtown, Bourbon Street."
    The men exchanged nervous glances.
    Several long blocks later,
Frank pointed to a deserted side street. "This'll do, pull in here."
    Ringo turned a tearful eye
to the back seat. "Please, man, I got a baby, don't kill me. It was all Martin's idea. I never done
anything like that in my life. If you let
us go, I swear on my mother's grave—"
    "Save it."
    Ringo banged his head
against the dashboard. "My little boy, he's only a year old. He'll never know his daddy."
    "Lucky kid," Frank said.
"Besides, think how happy your mom will be to see the nice young man she raised again."
    "Oh, God," Martin wailed. "We're too young
to die."
    "Shut up, you sniveling pussy. I'll bet Rand
didn't beg for his life."
    "No, he didn't, sir. He
kicked Martin so hard in the balls he'll never be able to have kids."
    Frank stifled his rage. "Another blessing.
Now haul your asses out, faces to the wall, palms flat and over
your heads."
    "Mr. McGuire—"
    "You say one more word,
Martin, I'll blow your fucking head off right here." They scrambled out with Frank on their heels. He snuck
up behind them, leaned in and whispered
between their ears. "Strip, everything off."
    Frank took immense pleasure
in the uncontrollable tremors seizing their naked flesh. He holstered the Glock, set the shoulder
bag on the ground and emptied the
contents, taking his sweet, sweet time. Let them wonder how much longer they'd have the ability to draw
breath. He hoped by now they were dying a
thousand deaths like Rand must have been when they punched his face
in and broke his jaw.
    Frank regulated his
breathing and spoke to his conscience. A long, warring-with-his-emotions minute later, he plucked two
lengths of hemp from the pile. "Wrists
behind your back."
    Ringo sobbed. "Oh, please—"
    "Face to the wall
dough-boy! If I have to tell you again, I'll shoot your balls off and take that pencil-dick with
'em."
    Damn. A rush of
satisfaction pulsed through Frank's blood, small compensation for what he'd be experiencing right
now if he'd allow his lawless, dark side
to surface. He secured their wrists so tight, he wondered if they'd lose their fingers before long. Another
minor surge of fulfillment emerged. Frank
looked at the sky with the awareness dawn would break
soon.
    Showtime.
    "Turn around." They rotated
front. Martin's eyes were clamped shut and Ringo watched him with the sight of a hawk. Frank picked up
the duck tape and scissor from the cement.
Beginning at the top of Ringo's head, he rolled the tape round and round, covering his eyes, his nose and
chin, leaving only a small hole near his
lips. With smug contentment, he did the same to Martin.
    "Just shoot me, man. I
can't take much more of this." Ringo's voice cut through the opening on a broken
whimper.
    "Shoot you? Hell, no, not yet. It would be
over too quick."
    When Martin's knees
collapsed, Frank opened the scissor and pinched his flaccid penis between the cold metal. "Uh-uh. Stand up or
I'll snip it off. Bloody mess, that," he
added for effect.
    Martin straightened his spine and heaved a
strangled cry.
    "Let's see, have I
forgotten anything? Naked? Check. Hands secured behind your backs? Check. Sight obliterated? Check. Fuck me,
the most important part."
    Frank grabbed the placards
near his feet and slipped them over their heads. "Oh, I wish you could see yourselves. Tell you what,
I'll take a snapshot from my cell phone
for Rand, and mail a copy to your families."
    "Shoot us, you bastard!
Just fucking shoot us and get it over with!" Silence fell over the deserted alley. "If only you knew how
much I want to. As it is, I'll leave that
to some other lucky devil that crosses your path in the near future." He grabbed them by their elbows and
dragged them from the alley. With the last
length of hemp, he tied them to the street sign back-to- back.
    "Oh, I don't want to leave
you in suspense. You're at the busiest intersection on Bourbon Street, naked as the wretched days
you were born,